There are a number of exceptionally good things happening right now. And in the spirit of sharing all good things, I intend to list them now.
1. A new Joe Coffee has opened up at 85th and Columbus. I only know of Joe Coffee because I saw a news segment months ago declaring that this establishment (with three downtown locations, one in Grand Central) reigns supreme among Manhattan espresso enthusiasts. Being somewhat prone to periods of unflagging loyalty to particular coffee chains (including an embarrassing 6-year tryst with Starbucks which shall furthermore be known as 'The Dark Years'), I knew that trying a cup of Joe Coffee would likely be my demise, as the aforementioned locations simply forebode me from becoming a frequent customer. But now, my abstinence is relieved by this lovely Upper West Side location, and I celebrated this 90 degree day with my first cup of many--a small iced Americano--simple and classic. And simple as it was, this refreshing combination of espresso and water did not disappoint, and I think Joe and I have an extremely beautiful future ahead of us.
2. I have a lot of really great friends. Allow me to elaborate. In the past week I have reconnected with more people than my sorry excuse for a memory can conjure, most of whom I haven't even had a real conversation with since I graduated from Northwestern nearly a year ago. I ventured back to Chicago/Evanston for an extended weekend to see my beloved a cappella group perform in their annual spring show. Over the course of four days I was able to spend quality time with almost every single person I could have ever wished to see again in my post-graduate life. The ease with which I fell back into genuine rapport with these friends instilled in me a real optimism about life and relationships; about the way that real friendship, no matter how frequent the phone call or close the geographical proximity, is the most natural of occurrences, and something to be celebrated, not to be forced or manipulated or micromanaged. So thank you to all of those who contributed to this discovery--you know who you are.
3. I'm bored. This is good only because I am looking at an exceptionally varied and busy late spring/summer, and this period of down time is essential in my preparedness for my upcoming projects and responsibilities. Switching gears is never easy, but I pride myself on being particularly adaptable, and it is high time for Kate to kick into high gear. Get ready.
4. I love New York. After being in the wonderful greater Chicago area for just a few days, a place I called home for a rather significant 4 years of my life--and a place I love and relish and will always cherish deeply--I know that I belong here completely. Not only is it home, but it is the place where I am most complete. And I celebrate this, because I know that while I want to travel the world and experience as many places as possible, I will always have a home base that completely speaks to the person I am, and the person I aspire to be.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Next Stop: Your High School Years
Spending a long weekend at my parents' house in the suburbs must be somewhat akin to entering a different dimension. Even in spite of having to come to their rescue as they lose the bitter war of Them versus Their Computers (who are constantly out to get them, in case you were wondering.); watching them lose a missing object only to find it, and moments later lose something else; and the myriad flaws in their inherently frustrating efforts to communicate with one another.
And, of course, having to call animal control when a rabid skunk starts stumbling in circles around the front yard, only to have a stocky moustached man in uniform pull into the driveway, saunter over to the doomed creature, and shoot it with a shotgun. How very West Virginia.
All of the aforementioned quirks aside, the very notion of 'home' is something that will always be unique and cherished. To, for sporadic bursts of time throughout the year, be able to abandon every single distinction of adult life and exist peacefully in this world virtually free of obligation.
Still, isn't family the greatest obligation of all? And watching one's parents age somewhat clumsily is never easy. But it's nice to know how very needed I actually am.
And it's really nice to know that when I feel the need to slip out of the screaming New York energy and into this alternate reality, even if just for a day or two, it awaits me just an hour away.
And, of course, having to call animal control when a rabid skunk starts stumbling in circles around the front yard, only to have a stocky moustached man in uniform pull into the driveway, saunter over to the doomed creature, and shoot it with a shotgun. How very West Virginia.
All of the aforementioned quirks aside, the very notion of 'home' is something that will always be unique and cherished. To, for sporadic bursts of time throughout the year, be able to abandon every single distinction of adult life and exist peacefully in this world virtually free of obligation.
Still, isn't family the greatest obligation of all? And watching one's parents age somewhat clumsily is never easy. But it's nice to know how very needed I actually am.
And it's really nice to know that when I feel the need to slip out of the screaming New York energy and into this alternate reality, even if just for a day or two, it awaits me just an hour away.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A new one.
If you haven't noticed, I just posted a couple of poems I wrote a few years ago. I'm starting to write again and thought I'd churn one out tonight to get the gears working. But I'm a little rusty, so be kind.
Note: This and the previous are blank verse, which is by definition unrhymed iambic pentameter.
Manhattan
I did not plan to dance with you tonight.
My shoes are plain, my hair a mess of curls
Unaltered from their natural array.
A heart that seems almost not mine
Weighs heavy, like a stranger’s burden
I offered to bear. Still, you are here,
A presence far too striking to ignore.
Your face is chiseled tactfully by time.
Your arm extends to me in invitation.
Your voice compels me. What is there to do
Except to dangle helpless from each word?
You ask me for a dance. I first decline,
For I am not a girl of grace or beauty.
I turn and walk away, only to see you
Inexplicably standing before me.
You watch. You wait. You ask me once again.
Embarassed, I begin to make excuses,
Hoping you’ll abandon the pursuit.
You shift your weight, but hold your fixed gaze.
You cause a gust of wind as you exhale.
I shiver in response, and just like that
Your arms enfold me. And we start to sway
From side to side, accompanied by you.
The hum beneath your streets, the laughs
And cries on every corner are your song.
I tell you I should probably head home.
And you just smile and whisper on my cheek -
“You are already home.” And I believe you.
© Kate Canary 2009
Note: This and the previous are blank verse, which is by definition unrhymed iambic pentameter.
Manhattan
I did not plan to dance with you tonight.
My shoes are plain, my hair a mess of curls
Unaltered from their natural array.
A heart that seems almost not mine
Weighs heavy, like a stranger’s burden
I offered to bear. Still, you are here,
A presence far too striking to ignore.
Your face is chiseled tactfully by time.
Your arm extends to me in invitation.
Your voice compels me. What is there to do
Except to dangle helpless from each word?
You ask me for a dance. I first decline,
For I am not a girl of grace or beauty.
I turn and walk away, only to see you
Inexplicably standing before me.
You watch. You wait. You ask me once again.
Embarassed, I begin to make excuses,
Hoping you’ll abandon the pursuit.
You shift your weight, but hold your fixed gaze.
You cause a gust of wind as you exhale.
I shiver in response, and just like that
Your arms enfold me. And we start to sway
From side to side, accompanied by you.
The hum beneath your streets, the laughs
And cries on every corner are your song.
I tell you I should probably head home.
And you just smile and whisper on my cheek -
“You are already home.” And I believe you.
© Kate Canary 2009
Discovery
18 May 2005
Discovery
The details of the circumstance are vague.
I clasp onto a hazy recollection
Spawned more from sheer emotion and impact
Than any fact. The date was surely summer
—No—autumn, perhaps? Or some occasion
On which my father’s brother and his wife
Abandoned their Manhattan for an evening
In the country—not unusual.
So vivid still remains that odd sensation
Of youth as prison, with bedtime shackles
Keeping me from things I’d never relished
Like late-night conversation with the grown-ups.
Begrudgingly I plodded to my bedroom
(A girlish fantasy of rosebud hues)
And even those maternal lips on my forehead
Could not relieve the stinging, nagging thought
Of life’s great fleeting moments slept away.
Just moments after, surely dreams did take me
Away, as two rooms over, mumbled laughter
Evolved into some quiet melody.
Interjected with a cough, or clinking glasses,
There played, imperfectly, a perfect song.
A high E flat awoke me from my slumber,
So with no choice I went to meet its maker.
On tiptoes, creeping toward the melodies
I felt a flutter as the music swelled.
It sounded not like anything I’d heard
On big flat discs Mom had that spun around.
It moved me in a way my childish heart
Could barely comprehend, I came alive
From some angelic voice just steps away.
Poking my porcelain face around the corner
I hoped not to be seen at three feet tall.
The image there before me, I believe,
Still burns within the center of my soul.
My parents, elders, ultimate protectors
Stood gathered as my uncle’s fingers danced
Along the ivories. They were transformed—
Singers, now, remarkable performers
Embodied by my very own creators.
In some ways life loses its novelty
As self-defining moments slowly slip
Through older, somewhat aged, judgmental fingers.
As so I thank the tender days of youth
For granting me a genuine impression.
I found my heroes fifteen years ago.
© Kate Canary 2005
Discovery
The details of the circumstance are vague.
I clasp onto a hazy recollection
Spawned more from sheer emotion and impact
Than any fact. The date was surely summer
—No—autumn, perhaps? Or some occasion
On which my father’s brother and his wife
Abandoned their Manhattan for an evening
In the country—not unusual.
So vivid still remains that odd sensation
Of youth as prison, with bedtime shackles
Keeping me from things I’d never relished
Like late-night conversation with the grown-ups.
Begrudgingly I plodded to my bedroom
(A girlish fantasy of rosebud hues)
And even those maternal lips on my forehead
Could not relieve the stinging, nagging thought
Of life’s great fleeting moments slept away.
Just moments after, surely dreams did take me
Away, as two rooms over, mumbled laughter
Evolved into some quiet melody.
Interjected with a cough, or clinking glasses,
There played, imperfectly, a perfect song.
A high E flat awoke me from my slumber,
So with no choice I went to meet its maker.
On tiptoes, creeping toward the melodies
I felt a flutter as the music swelled.
It sounded not like anything I’d heard
On big flat discs Mom had that spun around.
It moved me in a way my childish heart
Could barely comprehend, I came alive
From some angelic voice just steps away.
Poking my porcelain face around the corner
I hoped not to be seen at three feet tall.
The image there before me, I believe,
Still burns within the center of my soul.
My parents, elders, ultimate protectors
Stood gathered as my uncle’s fingers danced
Along the ivories. They were transformed—
Singers, now, remarkable performers
Embodied by my very own creators.
In some ways life loses its novelty
As self-defining moments slowly slip
Through older, somewhat aged, judgmental fingers.
As so I thank the tender days of youth
For granting me a genuine impression.
I found my heroes fifteen years ago.
© Kate Canary 2005
Good Morning, April
17 April 2005
Good morning, April. Long time since
You’ve graced us with your smile.
Your hands have aged, but still maintain
The softness of their style.
I’ve missed your dandelion locks
And rosebud-painted cheeks,
The tranquil - yet, awake - allure
That stagnant Winter seeks.
Your scent pervades the mild air—
Extravagant perfume.
Your radiance fights off the night,
Extending afternoon.
I hear your voice in thunderstorms;
You choke on raindrop tears,
While your life’s brevity you mourn
Still after all these years.
Don’t cry, dear April, May’s embrace
Will keep your flowers safe,
And when it’s time, leave them upon
The edge of summer’s grave.
© Kate Canary 2005
Good morning, April. Long time since
You’ve graced us with your smile.
Your hands have aged, but still maintain
The softness of their style.
I’ve missed your dandelion locks
And rosebud-painted cheeks,
The tranquil - yet, awake - allure
That stagnant Winter seeks.
Your scent pervades the mild air—
Extravagant perfume.
Your radiance fights off the night,
Extending afternoon.
I hear your voice in thunderstorms;
You choke on raindrop tears,
While your life’s brevity you mourn
Still after all these years.
Don’t cry, dear April, May’s embrace
Will keep your flowers safe,
And when it’s time, leave them upon
The edge of summer’s grave.
© Kate Canary 2005
Monday, April 6, 2009
Don't you know it's gonna be alright?
Current Song: "Revolution" - The Beatles
You know it's baseball season when I suddenly have a new lease on life.
I am having the most incredibly Zen day. Centering myself. Letting go of grudges, of all negative energy. Being kind and gracious to those I love. Putting a gigantic "Handle With Care" stamp on my precious relationships.
Watching the Yankees opening day in Baltimore. I'm so lucky that the game was on at 4, as I have to work tonight. Bal'mer is in the lead, but not by much.
It's been cloudy and raining all day, but every once in awhile a flood of sunshine spontaneously pours through my window. I can't help but see it metaphorically. Like, the cloudier the day, the more opportunity for silver linings.
Cheesy? Maybe. But it feels good. And this is my effort to share it with you.
You know it's baseball season when I suddenly have a new lease on life.
I am having the most incredibly Zen day. Centering myself. Letting go of grudges, of all negative energy. Being kind and gracious to those I love. Putting a gigantic "Handle With Care" stamp on my precious relationships.
Watching the Yankees opening day in Baltimore. I'm so lucky that the game was on at 4, as I have to work tonight. Bal'mer is in the lead, but not by much.
It's been cloudy and raining all day, but every once in awhile a flood of sunshine spontaneously pours through my window. I can't help but see it metaphorically. Like, the cloudier the day, the more opportunity for silver linings.
Cheesy? Maybe. But it feels good. And this is my effort to share it with you.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
When I grow up...
Really all I want is to be a good person. And a good friend. Honestly.
And it's hard because these little demons get in the way. Shyness, laziness, selfishness. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
I will conquer them. Mark my words. But the first step is admitting you have a problem.
And it's hard because these little demons get in the way. Shyness, laziness, selfishness. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
I will conquer them. Mark my words. But the first step is admitting you have a problem.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
This is fact, not fiction. For the first time in years.
Current song: "A Lack of Color" - Death Cab for Cutie
I do believe that anything good never comes easy.I do believe that passion requires sacrifice.
But I also believe that sometimes we are given explicit road signs, in black and white, that we stubborn creatures choose to ignore in an effort to be strong, persistent, even noble.
And lately, I consistently feel locked in futile pursuit of something someone else has chosen for me. A pursuit that at it's very core goes against every fiber of my being.
It's cowardly for me to imply that someone else has chosen this path for me. I chose it for myself. But only because of my incurable desire to please others.
Who am I doing this for?
And I am screaming this question at the top of my lungs, only I am standing at the bottom of an empty canyon drowning in the echo of my own unanswered voice.
I do believe that anything good never comes easy.I do believe that passion requires sacrifice.
But I also believe that sometimes we are given explicit road signs, in black and white, that we stubborn creatures choose to ignore in an effort to be strong, persistent, even noble.
And lately, I consistently feel locked in futile pursuit of something someone else has chosen for me. A pursuit that at it's very core goes against every fiber of my being.
It's cowardly for me to imply that someone else has chosen this path for me. I chose it for myself. But only because of my incurable desire to please others.
Who am I doing this for?
And I am screaming this question at the top of my lungs, only I am standing at the bottom of an empty canyon drowning in the echo of my own unanswered voice.
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